Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
with tangerine bees and marmalade flies,
suddenly you find yourself, awake in a room,
where all of the walls have eyes,
surprise,
and even the ceiling, the floor, your art,
even the shadows, your snowy new prose,
your drums, outcomes and wayfaired despairs,
your dreams and extremes, they seem
to have eyes, have eyes, my dear.
And with certainty the skies have eyes, my love…
Certainly, the skies have eyes,
overhead, eyes that won’t ever:
alcoholize, anesthetize, analogize, animalize,
cannibalize, chastize, minimize, capitalize you,
my love, certainly these eyes won’t minimize
you, dear.
You are seen and have been
the aquamarine queen in the in-between world
of love, my dove.
Share
